


There's Ghosts in my Heart (help me to silence them)

by Maewn



Series: Silent before the Grave [5]
Category: Fable 2 (Video Game), Fable 3 (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Heros and their families, Introspection, Mentioned Character Death, Slight Canon Divergence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-16
Updated: 2018-03-16
Packaged: 2019-04-01 06:02:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13992009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maewn/pseuds/Maewn
Summary: Logan wishes things had been different.





	There's Ghosts in my Heart (help me to silence them)

It’s raining again, Logan notes absently, eyeing the window of the royal suite.

It seems to always be raining now, almost as if Avo weeps for Albion.

Logan is trying his hardest to keep the country from tearing itself apart, as he tries to protect its unknowing citizens from Darkness Incarnate that lurks across the sea.

Adding in that his little sister has fled the castle and is apparently gathering followers to her cause…it’s a mess.

Logan wishes things had been different.

He looks at the portrait of his parents hanging on the wall above the fireplace. Mama is younger in this one, her hair pure black, not a grey hair in sight. Papa stands to her left, Father to her right.

The Necromancer Queen had married twice in her lifetime, marrying Marcus Aventus soon after Logan’s birth, and Sylas Martyn nearly two years later.

Albion had been shocked by the scandal of their Queen having two husbands at the same time.

Mama hadn’t cared. Logan remembers the amusement that would flicker across her face, as she retold the story to his little sister, and the soft laughter of Papa and Father that followed.

He wants to be like Mama, strong and firm in the face of darkness. But dear Avo, it is _hard_.

He wants to think that he hasn’t failed her. But somewhere, he knows he did the moment he gave Bowerstone Industrial to Reaver.

Thunder cracks outside, rattling the glass.

Logan was born on a night like this, he knows. Rose too was born during bad weather, in her case a snowstorm that had blanketed Albion and trapped many in their homes for days.

He glances out the window a moment longer and exits the suite.

It is a short walk to the tomb, made shorter by the rain. Logan knows the guard rotations by heart, avoiding the patrols is easy.

The tomb is cool, but not freezing, and the tunnels beneath are sealed again. Logan glances at the crypts, golden and ornate and kneels on the stone, bowing his head.

The stillness here is comforting, almost sacred. Free of the whispers that still plague him. That _thing_ that still haunts his dreams.

It’s as if Mama’s spirit has lingered, and blessed this place so that evil would not enter. A foolish notion, Logan knows, but he finds comfort in the idea.

“Mama,” he says, his voice quiet, soft in a way that hasn’t been in years. “Mama, I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to see Albion fall.”

“I’ve tried to be a good King, and maybe if the…if whatever that thing in Aurora is…hadn’t found me, maybe I would have been,” Logan says, “But it did, and…forgive me, Mama, but I’ve broken your kingdom and there is nothing I can do but push her people to the brink and hope we survive.”

He pushed Rose to the brink, as well, he thinks. Though he had not actually killed the boy, instead allowing him to…escape. Rose did not know and as far as he knew still didn’t.

From what his spies have said, the boy has been trying to rally support for Rose’s growing rebellion from the depths of Bowerstone Industrial.

Guilt sits heavily in his stomach and he reaches up, carefully removing the crown to tilt it in his hands, watching the light from the braziers flicker over the Guild Seal on its front.

The true crown of Heroes, Mama had once said, settling it into his hair when he was little.

_“Remember,” Mama says, smiling, “The people of Albion are the lifeblood of this country. You cannot forget them. Do good by them, my little Prince, and Albion will thrive.”_

_“Yes, Mama!” Logan chirps, grinning as the crown slips to his nose. “It’s too big!”_

_“Well, you have to grow into it,” Mama says, lifting the crown to tap his nose with a finger. “There’s plenty of time for that.”_

Logan misses her. He was crowned in the wake of her death. A fever that would not break had stolen the beloved Queen away late one night in September and Logan ascended the throne the next month.

Papa and Father had served as advisors, much as they had for the late Queen. Then the plague had come, taking them and nearly half the population of Albion.

But Albion had not fallen then, had nearly been restored, until Logan had gone to Aurora.

“I’ve tried, Mama,” Logan repeats, hoping that wherever she is now, that she hears and believes him. “Avo forgive me for what I’ve done.”


End file.
